


Perspective

by White Queen Writes (fhartz91)



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 02:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhartz91/pseuds/White%20Queen%20Writes
Summary: Crowley likes to check in on Warlock from time to time, make sure he’s doing alright without Nanny Ashtoreth. One afternoon, Crowley discovers something rather bittersweet about his former charge and his parents.





	Perspective

**Author's Note:**

> We also see another way that Aziraphale copes with his husband's driving XD

“I knew I’d find you here,” Aziraphale says as he finishes his climb, stopping to rest beneath the branches of an old apple tree – healthy and lush, already heavy with fruit. Being ancient, an inhabitant of this hillside before the houses, the cars, even the people, it fears nothing, and that makes Aziraphale smile.

A better hiding spot could not be found for his reluctant demon.

Aziraphale puts his hands on his hips and takes a look around. He breathes in the clean, fresh air; closes his eyes and turns his face towards the golden sun. Today is blessed – one of the first truly warm days of summer.

And he’s thankful for this opportunity to partake in it.

He lays out his tartan blanket and sets himself upon it. He stretches out his legs, leans back on his hands, and becomes one with his surroundings – clear sky overhead, green grass beneath his feet, people everywhere gathering out of doors, enjoying this felicity ...

Save one.

The angel spots him, sulking beneath the bushes, coiled in the shadows.

The tree sits on the slope of a hill overlooking an enormous park. Further down, in an open field, a young boy makes what seems like an impossible catch. The man he’s playing ball with cheers, racing over to high-five his son, congratulating him on intercepting another pop-up. Aziraphale smiles.

“It’s so nice to see the Dowlings have turned over a new leaf,” he says. “Warlock looks genuinely happy. That should make _you_ happy.”

Aziraphale turns his head, looking for acknowledgement from the serpent, but the snake has disappeared. Moments later, Crowley walks out from behind the tree and sits beside his angel on the blanket.

“I _guess_.” He yanks at a few weak strands of grass (since he’d failed to intimidate the tree), and crushes them between his fingers.

“So, why aren’t you happy?”

Crowley shrugs, merely a placeholder till he can come up with an answer.

“It was nice to feel needed. I know that being his nanny was a ruse but …” Another shrug, just his left shoulder “… I guess I was fooling myself. They never did need me at all. Looks like leaving was the best thing I ever did for them.”

Aziraphale bobs his head left and right, somewhere between a shake and a nod. “Well, you are _partially_ right.”

“Thanks, angel,” Crowley scoffs, eyes locked on the boy in the blue t-shirt and black shorts intercepting another pop-up, while his mother, always with phone in hand, takes a barrage of pictures, posting them proudly to her various social media pages for her friends to see.

“Once you left, his parents had to compete with you,” Aziraphale explains. “With the hole you left in Warlock’s life. It made them realize everything they’d been missing out on, how important he is to them. They started to remember why they wanted a child in the first place.”

“Too little, too late, if you ask me. There are loads of wonderful parents in the world, and yet we’re always overlooking them and giving passes to the bad ones. In my opinion, if you’re gonna be bad parents, you deserve someone else raising your child.”

Aziraphale reaches out, puts a hand on his demon’s knee and gives him a sympathetic squeeze. “It’s a matter of perspective, my dear. You were the greatest nanny Warlock ever had and yet you were a demon, trying to ensure that he would grow up to be evil and cruel.”

“My motives may have been a little skewed, but …”

“… but in the end, you cared about him. _Truly_ cared about him.” Cheers from below draw Aziraphale’s gaze back to the small family, now chasing one another around, playing tag and laughing. “_They_ care about him, too. They aren’t bad parents, Crowley. Not really. They just … lost their way. Forgot what was important. You did them a huge favor.”

Crowley gulps at those words, the notion of losing their way landing on him like a ton of bricks.

It’s something he can definitely relate to whether he wants to or not.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t feel that way to me.”

“I know it doesn’t.”

Silence falls between them. In it they can hear the words: “Tag! You’re it!”, “Ah! You got me!”, “Good job, Warlock!”, and “Mommy loves you, darling!”

Crowley clears his throat, but it does little to help. Aziraphale feels the lump growing there as if it’s in his own.

“They’re taking him to the states, you know,” Crowley announces, his voice cracking. “Mr. Dowling won’t be traveling as much apparently. They’re going to make a go at being a normal family.”

“I think that’s wonderful,” Aziraphale says, moving closer to his demon.

“Do you now?”

“Yes. And not only for them. For you, too. Now maybe you can spend less time torturing yourself about leaving him and go on knowing that he’s well cared for.”

“And how do you expect me to manage that, hmm?”

“By having a little faith, my love.”

Crowley snarls, grabbing a handful of grass and ripping it from the ground. “Faith in what, angel? God in all of her infinite bloody Wisdom, and all that other nonsense they feed you guys in Cloud City? You’re talking to the wrong damn demon if you honestly think I’m going to have _faith_!”

“No, Crowley.” Aziraphale finds Crowley’s hand and holds it, smiling when his demon, still mad, wraps his fingers around it. “Faith in _yourself_. Your chapter in his story may have been brief, but you had an impact. You might have taught him songs about crushing his enemies beneath his feet, but you did it with kindness. You held him and played with him and tucked him in at night. You’re a nicer person than you give yourself credit for, and that kind of love leaves a mark. When he goes to the states, he’s taking a piece of you with him.”

“I suppose I can always hop on over. When’s the last time you’ve been to the states, angel? A while? It might be nice to give it a go, don’t you think?” Crowley stares off into the distance as the family gathers their things and starts to head away. Mr. Dowling tosses the baseball to his son one last time and Warlock catches it. In the process, he turns his head towards the apple tree.

He stops walking.

He squints into the sunlight, leaning forward to get a better look.

“Mom?” he says. “Is that … is that Nanny?”

“Where?” Mrs. Dowling asks.

“Up there!” He points excitedly. “Under the apple tree!”

Mrs. Dowling looks for herself, shielding her eyes with her hand to get a better look. “I … I don’t know. It looks like Brother Francis, to me … in a really nice suit …”

“No, next to him!”

Aziraphale sees mother and son smile. Warlock raises an arm to wave, but Crowley snaps his fingers. Warlock stops, confusion crossing his face.

“She’s … she’s gone,” he says, disappointed. “Wh-where did she go?”

“Maybe it wasn’t her.” Mrs. Dowling puts a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Warlock sighs. “Maybe. But I thought … I was positive …”

“I know you miss her,” Mr. Dowling says, kneeling to talk to his son eye-to-eye, “but the people we love have a way of turning up from time to time when we least expect it. I’m sure you’ll see her again.”

“You think so?”

“I _know_ so.”

Mrs. Dowling shoots her husband a worried look, but he simply smiles. “I work for the government. I’ll find a way. Now let’s be off. Ice cream doesn’t eat itself, you know.”

“Yeah! Ice cream!” Warlock yells, speeding away. Mrs. Dowling takes one last look up at the apple tree, but the tree is all she sees, not the angel and the demon sitting under it, watching as they walk away.

Crowley takes a shuddering breath in, waving a subtle goodbye with his fingers.

Aziraphale hands his demon a handkerchief.

Crowley takes it.

“Are the book metaphors new, or …?”

“They’re on brand, darling.” Aziraphale leans in to give his husband a kiss as he blots beneath his eyes. “I do own a bookshop, you know.”

“I’d heard rumors …”

“Now then - how about we go for a walk, hmmm? Take advantage of this fresh air. Or we can find something else to take your mind off of things.”

“Can we go for a drive?”

“Absolutely,” Aziraphale says, picking up his blanket and giving it a shake. “Do you mind if I get blisteringly drunk first?”

Crowley offers Aziraphale his arm. “I’d be offended if you didn’t.”


End file.
